Distemper
by Diana the Burninator
Summary: The new Dream steps in to save a mortal from the clutches of Despair.


Author's Note: This is one of a group of stories I wrote a few years back, which I've finally decided to post here. Like I said, they're not very recent, so don't expect anything profoundly wonderful, but I hope the readers here enjoy them.  
  
Disclaimer: Dream, Death, Despair, and all Sandman characters are the creations of Neil Gaiman and Mike Dringenberg and trademarks of DC Comics and Vertigo. This is a labor of love, and no money is being made off of it. Yadda, yadda, yadda...  
  
On with the show!  
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No. Not again. I can't go through this all again.  
  
I look over at my family, sitting in the lobby beside me. They all have tears in their eyes. Not me, though. Laura thinks that I don't care about Pete, and that I never did. That's very far from the truth, of course. Now, Mom and Dad, they tell me that I'm being strong. I'm not sure about that, either. I sure as hell don't feel strong. I'm not going to cry now. I've already done that. When I heard. I have no more tears left in me.  
  
There are other pets around me. A little cockatiel sitting on his perch beside the reception desk. A cat in a carrier across the sitting area from me. A yapping toy poodle being dragged to a seat by her flustered owner. I wonder what they're all here for. Routine check-ups. Shots. The normal stuff, probably. I envy them.  
  
I'm going to miss Pete. Pete Marsh. That had been our little joke. My parents had always told me about how they knew they would never name me Pete if I had been a boy. I didn't think it would have been a big deal. Not many kids would have gotten the joke. "Peat marsh." Not a side-splitter of a pun, but I thought it was cute.  
  
He was so young. Still just a puppy. As got older, grew from the little runt that he'd been at the city pound, he'd started to have problems. At first, it was just his throwing up every now and then, but we always attributed that to his cat litter fetish. At only six months old, Pete had started to foam at the mouth and collapse to the ground in fits. It was terrifying. We thought it was just an infection. He had a fever, so the vet gave us some pills, which didn't help. That was when we all heard. Distemper. Those strange fits had been seizures. I'd cried then. Dad held out hope, but I had cried. It's almost never a surprise to me when these things happen. I don't like to cry in front of others. But that doesn't mean I don't care.  
  
Pete was taken back fifteen minutes ago. He was led to the injection room by his collar, which they brought back to us a few minutes later. "As a keepsake," they told us. As that stranger in the white scrubs led Pete away, I could see the confusion in his brown eyes. He had no idea that he wouldn't be coming home with us. I almost cried then. He didn't deserve this.  
  
It's been fifteen minutes. And we wait.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Staring out from behind the lobby's surveillance mirrors, she also waits. And as she waits, she pierces the skin in her neck, letting the thick red blood flow from a torn vein. This one has been coming closer to her realm for a long time. With each lost pet, each lost friend, Despair's hooks draw her closer, dragging her by her continuously breaking heart. She's such a gentle soul, thinks Despair in her realm of mist and silvered glass, but she's only mortal. This one belongs to her brother. Her spirit is full of poetry, song, and story, but that will soon change. Despair drags a hooked ring down the inside of a flabby arm, cutting through fat and muscle. More blood oozes out. She begins to slash across the deep laceration in quick swipes, cutting strips of her own flesh from her arm. With each swipe of her sigil, Despair pounds the hopelessness of the situation into the girl's head. As she shreds her own body, she also shreds a mortal heart.  
  
This young girl, still just in high school, has flourished on hope and dreams her whole life. A hopeless romantic. True to the way of Dream's people, she writes and creates fantastic worlds and characters. She drinks from the cup of life with full vigor, gulping down its juices eagerly. In her lust for life, however, she cannot handle death. Despair's oldest sister has visited this mortal more times than should be allowed. Each loss is another jagged hook digging into her breast. There are many of them now. Slowly, as a cat plays with a mouse meal, Despair begins to tug on them, one at a time.  
  
The girl is beyond tears now. She watches her family sob. They are sad, but their souls are still intact. They don't take each death personally, letting it inside of them to tear and rip. This girl. This pale mortal girl is prime despair material. Coiling the invisible strings leading from the girl's heart tightly around a dirty white finger, Despair prepares for the final tug that will send the girl careening over the edge of the Dreaming and into her realm.  
  
And she calls on her brother.  
  
"Dream?" Despair's cold, hoarse voice echoes off of the mirrors' reflective surfaces. "I do not stand in my gallery, and I hold none but by own sigil. But I, your sister, call on you. Come to your dear sister, will you?" The stinking mists of Despair's realm are silent. Desire's twin smirks disgustingly, a jagged lower tooth jugging out over her upper lip. She holds up her sigil. "I have here attached the heart strings of one of yours. A dreamer, my brother. Now, I say, come to me."  
  
There is another silence, not ended, but punctuated, by the parting of Despair's fog by a tall, pale figure. Her brother.  
  
"Finally saw fit to answer your little sister when in need of you, hmm?" Despair scoffs at the approaching figure. "I also see that you only respond to threats now."  
  
Her brother stands beside her now, ignoring all provocations from Despair. "What is it that you want of me?" he asks plainly. He's dressed surprisingly informally, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. The emerald around his neck looks almost ludicrous in contrast.  
  
"Look," Despair prods. She points a pudgy hand at the twisted reflection of the lobby mirror. "This mortal, young by even humanity's standards, has been scarred repeatedly. Her dreaming heart has countless hooks in it, which I control. She will soon be mine, and then our oldest sister's, unless you think fit to stop her fall from your little realm."  
  
Dream pauses, seeming almost uncertain. "I...do not think that I play your games, Despair."  
  
Despair smirks once more. "That is what you used to say, and look what happened to you. Dead."  
  
"Did you not die once, as well?" he counters. "I am still Dream, and I do not participate in your challenges, those of your twin, or of our youngest sister, Delirium."  
  
"Save it, my brother." Despair shakes her round head, almost pityingly. "Do not think of this as a game. Think of it as...a chance to prove yourself."  
  
Her brother raises an ashen eyebrow. "I do not need to prove myself to you or anyone else."  
  
"Look at her, Dream," she continues, unhearing. "She is hurting. A dreamer, one of those you are supposed to care for, is shattered and broken. If you do not heed my words, she will soon know only me and then death. I am giving you an opportunity to stop this happening. Or are you not strong enough? Newly aquired power is hard to maintain, I'm sure." Despair smiles now, certain of where this will lead.  
  
Hesitantly, Dream's star-eyes move to where his sister is pointing. He looks at the broken form of the dreamer and feels her pain. It washes over him in waves, and he has sympathy. Something stirs within him, and, however reluctantly, he accedes.  
  
"Even now, our sister comes to her for another time. She is taking something else from her," Despair says triumphantly, sure that she has already won.  
  
Standing beside his sister, Dream watches and waits. All is silent.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
My family and I are still waiting. All I can hear is the tick, tock, tick, tock of the clock on the wall. It's maddening, but it let's me know that thirty minutes have passed. I just want it to be over. I want to go home. I want Pete to be okay. They say two out of three ain't bad...  
  
An animal doctor comes out now, and he comes up to us. He coughs and adjusts his glasses as he hands my parents some papers. Always papers...  
  
The vet speaks to us, saying that it's done, he died peacefully without any pain, here's your bill for fifty dollars, please sign here. My family has stopped crying now. I'm completely numb. I feel a void inside me. Like a place between worlds. Not even a place. Just nothing.  
  
Transitions.  
  
Dad signs the papers. Somewhere inside, I almost resent the euthanasia of sick animals being reduced to a business transaction. Sign this. Pay me. Everything's happy, happy, happy. I have the sudden half-hearted urge to slug someone. I ignore it, of course. That would only worsen things, and I doubt that it would make me feel any better.  
  
We all climb into Dad's car. My sister and I sit in the back seat and stare out the windows while our parents in front speak in hushed tones. The radio is turned off, which is very unusual. There's no music to sing along to to help forget about everything. It's a single-car funeral procession.  
  
We get home, and my sister immediately turns on the T.V. My parents go back to their room, probably to talk. Mom will cry some more, and Dad will comfort her while comforting himself at the same time. I go to my room, where it's nice and quiet. I light some incense and read a bit. Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. Most of the humor is lost on me like this. There's a knock on the door. I practically jump out of my skin, but I say, "Come in," nevertheless.  
  
The door opens, and my sister pokes her head in. "Can we talk?" she asks quietly. My sister and I have never really gotten along, but it's times like this that that doesn't really seem to matter. I let her sit on my bed, and we talk.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Dream materializes in his realm with a sigh. The mists of Despair's realm follow him, curling at his feet before shrinking back to their mistress. He leans on the wall of his gallery and runs white fingers through his equally white hair. From the moment he silently agreed with Despair, he knew it to be a mistake. But he's given his word, and Dream is not one to go back on something like that. He needs to speak with his older sister.  
  
He stands in front of Death's frame and grasps her sigil firmly. She must be busy, but then, Death is always busy. "My sister," he says, holding the silver ankh close to his pale lips, "I stand in my gallery, and I hold your sigil. May we talk?"  
  
"Sure, little brother," she pipes from behind him. He turns to see Death, her usual smile on her usual pearly face. "Whatcha wanna talk about?"  
  
"My sister, I talked with Despair today." Dream's face looks both troubled and quietly annoyed.  
  
"You don't say," Death chirps as she rests her cheek against her hand. "I had the feeling that one of the twins would try to provoke you eventually. I always thought it'd be Desire, though."  
  
"No. It was Despair. She wants me to...prove myself."  
  
Death shakes her head lovingly. "You don't need to prove anything to her. Or anyone else, for that matter."  
  
"As I said. However, I am not doing this to prove anything to Despair." He pauses. "I...care," mumbles Dream as if the sensation is new to him. "About this mortal girl that Despair is toying with. I want to help her. I want to save her from Despair's domain."  
  
A large smile spreads across Death's black lips, showing her white top teeth. "Oh, Dream, that's so sweet." She leans forward and hugs him. "Let me guess," she comments, looking up at her brother's face. "You need my help."  
  
"Yes. This girl has lost a beloved pet to your realm. I thought..." Dream's voice trails off, letting his sister fill in the blank for herself.  
  
"I see." Death suddenly looks thoughtful. "I know what you mean. I'll help you, Dream."  
  
A ghost of a grin possesses her brother's face. "Thank you."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
My sister leaves my room, shutting the door behind her. I think that our talk helped her, which gives me a strange satisfaction. I still feel the same, though. How can you have a different version of nothingness, after all? I go back to my book and try reading some more. The light outside is beginning to wane, and I don't feel like getting up to turn on the room light. I give up on the reading. Instead, I lie on my back and stare at the ceiling, thinking about it all.  
  
What's the point? I have nothing. I feel nothing. Anything that I ever get will always be taken away from me. All feelings will eventually lead to anger and sadness. Why should I even try? Maybe I should embrace the void and let myself fall in.  
  
I roll over on my stomach and bury my face in my pillow. If I'm lucky, I'll suffocate. It will at least soak up the salty water running from my eyes. Tears...? I thought I was past those... Weeping silently into my pillow, I let myself go.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Despair sits in front of a new mirror, a rat gnawing at her fingers. In the window to the outside world, she sees the girl. She's on her bed, nodding off to sleep. Despair takes her hook and punctures the back of her head. Drawing the sharp point up the middle of her scalp toward her forehead, she pauses as the girl in the mirror begins to dream.  
  
"I can wait, brother Dream," she reassures. "I can wait."  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
A vast field. So full of grass but devoid of a sun. The skies here are gray, but not in a sad way. In the distance, I see two figures, one dark, one light. And one more figure, too small to make out. I walk toward them.  
  
As I get closer, I can almost see the faces. One of them is a girl, dressed in Goth clothes and black make-up and hair. She's very beautiful. The man is all white. He, too, looks beautiful, but in a quieter, stranger way. And the third figure...  
  
I begin to run toward them.  
  
"You're a good boy," says the dark girl to the dog struggling in her arms. He licks her face, and she lets him go, "Go on, Pete!"  
  
I think I recognize the two people. They're very familiar, but that's not the important thing in this dream. The important thing is licking my face in joy right now, wagging his tail the whole time. "Get off me!" I manage to shout joyously. He keeps covering me in canine kisses. My face feels quite slimy by this time, and I throw him off. Laughing, I run out across the grasses. "C'mon, boy!" He runs after me, barking for me to come back.  
  
I leave the two figures behind, soon forgetting that they'd ever been there in the first place.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
Despair sits in her mists, still watching the figure in the mirror window. Waiting for the tossing and turning of turbulent dreams. Waiting for the mortal's face to twist and her voice to cry out to find no comfort at all. She holds the hooked ring to her chest, giving the invisible strings a strong tug. The strings tighten, and a muffled cry comes from the other side of the mirror. Without warning, the stress on the hook then gives way, and Despair drops her sigil for the first time in 100,000 years.  
  
There is a smile on the mortal's slumbering face.  
  
* * * * * * * * * *  
  
The two Endless walk away from the scene as the girl and her dog chase each other farther away into the distance.  
  
"It's sweet, I think," says the girl to her brother. "But will it last?"  
  
"I do not take your meaning."  
  
"I mean," she explains, "that I'm worried she might forget all this. Dreams are often fleeting."  
  
Her brother nods. "That may be true, but dreams can also last longer than eternity."  
  
"I guess you're right," the girl agrees and takes the man's arm. "A job well done, huh, Dream?"  
  
He nods again and lets the winds of the Sunless Lands do the rest of the talking.  
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Story Notes: Like "So Much to Live For," this is a self-insertion fic with the purpose of venting pent-up emotional sludge over the loss of a pet, only this time real events didn't turn out so happily. I started this before we lost Pete, but I knew the inevitable. He was actually right next to me as I wrote the beginning of it. The last half was finished after he was gone. The despair the narrator feels in the story was very, very real. I apologize for making myself sound like some sort of saint in that one passage. Reading it now sort of turns my stomach. Finally, let this story be a warning to those who get their pets from the pound. Those places are usually unsanitary, and the animals there have a liklihood of being sick. Poor Pete didn't deserve to die like that... 


End file.
